


A is for American

by ioanite



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Birthday, Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioanite/pseuds/ioanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hornblower's birthdate is a bit of a sore spot for him. Not so much for the people he encounters, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A is for American

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lokei's Hornblower Alphabet Soup challenge.

“You have to admit, Horatio, that it’s a lovely city.”

Horatio looked at the buildings of New York disdainfully. “Maybe so, but they stole the designs from us.”

Bush glanced at him. “I wasn’t aware you were so bitter about losing America.”

“I’m not,” Horatio growled, turning away from the railing and retreating towards his cabin, “I’m bitter about being perpetually associated with the loss.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Bush said, “You were born…”

“The same day they decided to revolt. You can’t _imagine_ the teasing I got at school because of it, especially once the bloody Americans started treating it as a holiday. I was actually blamed for the revolt!”

“What?” Bush was shocked, albeit a little amused, “Who made _that_ leap of logic?”

“You know how a child’s mind works. They just liked having something to use against me other than my surname.”

Bush might have said something sympathetic, when Lord Fisher suddenly appeared on the scene. “Ah, there you are, Captain! My compliments on such a smooth journey!”

“It was my pleasure, my lord,” Horatio said, bowing, “Let us hope that your negotiations for aid in the war with France goes just as smoothly.”

“I doubt they will refuse us. They must have _some_ fond feelings for us.”

Horatio said nothing, but couldn’t refrain from arching an eyebrow. Fisher didn’t seem to notice. “By the way, Captain, a letter was waiting for me when we docked. I’ve been invited to dine with one of the more prominent families in New York, and they requested that I bring you along.”

Horatio was taken aback. “My Lord, I’m not sure if I…”

“Nonsense, Hornblower. You may be a little rough around the edges, but then, so are they! Besides, it may help my case to have an actual soldier there to give evidence.”

Horatio sighed, knowing it would do no good to argue with Fisher; the man _was_ a diplomat and negotiator, after all. “Very well, Lord Fisher. When do they expect us?”

“In two days time. They’d like us to participate in the Independence Day celebrations. It’s the least we can do.” Fisher laughed and moved away, and thus missed the flash of horror that crossed Horatio’s face. Bush noted it, but other than a sympathetic hand on the shoulder, he said nothing.

***

“Just grit your teeth and endure it, sir,” Polwheal said as he helped Horatio into his dress uniform, “The dinner will take an hour at most, and then you can withdraw somewhere until Lord Fisher is ready to leave.”

“If anyone in that room finds out when I was born, Polwheal, I will never hear the end of it, and the dinner will go from mildly unpleasant to a living hell.”

“You may be over thinking this one, sir. There may be a joke or two, but the Americans will probably take it in stride. It’s just a coincidence, after all.”

Horatio said nothing. Once Polwheal had fastened on Horatio’s cloak, he seized his hat and swept out of the cabin. Despite Polwheal’s attempts at soothing him, he knew the only way he would survive the dinner—the minute he started feeling self-conscious, he would reach for his wineglass and drink until he was too drunk to care anymore.

Initially, things were inoffensive enough. Lord Fisher introduced him to the American diplomat, Charles Fraiser, who immediately bombarded Horatio with questions about the war with France. Horatio obliged him, and soon found himself lost in details of the number of battles he’d fought in and the losses his ships had suffered. When dinner was announced, Horatio realized he was actually enjoying himself.

At dinner, Horatio found himself separated from both Fisher and Fraiser. Instead, he found himself sitting next to a young woman who positively bubbled over with enthusiasm. She talked quickly and energetically, gesturing with her hands and threatening to overturn her soup bowl. She laughed often, a piercing laugh that threatened to rupture Horatio’s eardrums. When she wasn’t speaking, she listened to the conversation with sparkling eyes and a smile that quirked upwards to one side. She was so talkative that Horatio found it impossible to carry on a conversation with the more sensible lady on the other side of him, or to lose himself in his own thoughts.

Suddenly, and against his will, he found himself pulled into the girl’s conversation. “You’re the British captain who brought Lord Fisher here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, hoping she’d realize he didn’t want to talk, “I had that pleasure.”

“It must be an exciting life, being a sailor and all that.”

 “Actually, milady, unless we are engaged in battle, it is exceedingly dull.”

“Nonsense!” she said, banging her hand down on the table and causing her silverware to chatter, “You get to visit exotic locales and bring back countless treasures. I wouldn’t call that dull.”

“Again, milady, that is when we dock at a port. When we are on the open sea, with nothing around us but ocean, it can be very dull.”

She ignored him. “I wish I had the ability to have the adventures you do. I suppose I’ll have to force it on my children and grandchildren. To see new places, meet new people…it’s my greatest desire.”

Horatio made a non-committal noise and reached for his wineglass. She caught his wrist. “Hold a minute. I try to have a conversation with you and I completely forget my manners! What’s your name, Captain?”

“Horatio Hornblower of the _Lydia_ , at your service.” Horatio disentangled himself and downed the drink in one.

 “Pleased to meet you, Captain Hornblower. Now, tell me of the places you’ve seen.”

And thus Horatio spent the rest of the meal answering her questions. She barely gave him time to eat, as she asked a new question every time he stopped speaking. When the men at the end of the table stood up, Horatio was overcome with relief. Turning to the young lady, he gave her a half-bow. “I’m pleased to have met you, Miss…”

“Call me Helen. And the feeling is mutual.”

Horatio left the table, reeling with disbelief. The woman wanted them to be on a first-name basis? Had the Americans gotten rid of _all_ British sensibilities?

***

While Lord Fisher and Mr. Fraiser went into a back room to begin negotiations, most of the men retired to play cards. Horatio would have joined them, but he refused to risk embarrassment. With that in mind, he retreated to the garden.

As he walked down the pathway towards a distant fountain, he heard someone run up behind him. “Ah, Mr. Hornblower, there you are! I was hoping I’d catch up with you!”

Horatio groaned inwardly as Helen ran forward and slid her arm through his. “Why would you be so interested to see me, milady? I’ve told you everything that is appropriate for a lady’s ears.”

“In all honesty, I find you fascinating. I was born long after the revolution that separated our countries, and honestly, it seems to me that England would be a much more interesting place to be. But the only Englishmen who come to call are there for my father and have little time for the curiosities of a silly girl.”

“Your father?” Horatio said, a nervous thought springing to mind, “By any chance, would you be Mr. Fraiser’s daughter?”

“I am indeed. I’m staying here with him until my husband returns from Pennsylvania.”

“You’re married, then?” Horatio said, forcing himself to sound pleasant; a negative report from the girl could doom the negotiations.

“I have been for three years. We’ve already got two children.”

Horatio was startled; the girl’s figure was excellent. “Children?”

“Both girls, sadly. Patrick is desperate for a boy, and won’t give me any rest until we have one. That’ll be the first thought on his mind when he gets back.”

Horatio was glad it was dark, so she couldn’t see him blushing. “Are all you Americans this forward?”

 She laughed. “Some of us are. We had to find _some_ way to distinguish ourselves from the English, didn’t we?”

Horatio cleared his throat, which she clearly took for assent. She tugged him back towards the house. “Come back inside, Captain. No one should celebrate Independence Day alone.” He wanted to protest, but she dragged him inside anyway.

Inside, he was startled to see a miniature fountain set up in the ballroom, each level filled with a different colored liquid. “Red wine, white wine, and white wine turned blue!” Helen said with a laugh, “Father knows how to keep his guests entertained. If you’ll excuse me for a minute, Captain, I see a friend of mine. Feel free to sample the wine while you wait.”

Horatio knew better than to flee; she’d just track him down. Resigning himself to spending the rest of the evening with her voice in his ear, he reached for a wineglass.

***

“How old are you, Captain Hornblower?” Helen asked him, as they sat idly watching the other guests dancing.

Horatio, who was on his fifth glass at this point, nevertheless braced himself. “Twenty-nine, milady. And yourself?”

“Eighteen. Born at the stroke of midnight in July of 1787. Ten days too late to celebrate the birth of our country at the same time.”

Horatio knew, in that instant, that she knew. “I was born in July as well.”

“Oh? So shall I wish you many belated happy returns, or many advanced happy returns?”

Why was she taunting him like this? “You know as well as I that you may merely wish me many happy returns.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean you were born on the Fourth? And you’re twenty-nine? But then, that means…”

As all the pieces came together, Horatio silently swore at himself. She hadn’t known at all; the wine just made him think she had. And now he’d just doomed himself.

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “So, does our country owe you a debt of gratitude, Captain Hornblower?”

“No,” Horatio spat, “I just wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Don’t be cross, Captain Hornblower,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I forgot that American and English humor may not be the same. Come, let’s bury the hatchet with a drink.”

Horatio complied. After that sixth drink, he didn’t remember much of the evening. He vaguely recalled Helen asking him more questions about himself and life in the navy, and also her suggestion that they take some air. Everything became hazy at this point.

When he woke up the next morning, he was back on board, with a raging hangover and an irritated Lord Fisher. Despite a promising start, Fraiser had rejected the request for aid, claiming that America’s resources were limited. “He was just teasing me!” Fisher moaned, “Wanted to pay us back for the revolution. No wonder he chose the date he did!”

Horatio said nothing and sipped another cup of coffee. He just wanted to get as far away from America, New York, and Helen as possible. His last memory of her was a whispered, “Thank you, Horatio”, as they stood up from a garden bench. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but something about that memory made him uneasy.

***

Helen leaned against a bench, feeling the sun on her face. One hand idly stroked her stomach. It had been two months since she’d last bled; her pregnancy was official.

Patrick was ecstatic. He was already making preparations for the baby’s arrival, positive that this time, it would be a boy. Helen shared his opinion, and had already settled on a name, although she would wait to reveal it until the child was actually born. Patrick would be so overjoyed by a son that he would give her anything…even forgiveness, if she asked for it.

Helen wasn’t repentant, though. Patrick was too staid, too content with life as it was. She wanted her son to have a life full of excitement, and to be smart enough to get out of any tough situation. For that, she’d needed a more appropriate man. And she’d chosen very wisely indeed.

Captain Hornblower was intelligent, quick-thinking, and resilient; God willing, her son would be the same. What’s more, he and Patrick shared hair and eye color, meaning that there would be no suspicion about her son’s father. Only she and God would know. She may pay for this when the time came, but she felt it was worth it.

“Make me proud,” she murmured, stroking her stomach again, “Live a full life, and nurture your adventurous streak in your children, and their children. I expect great things from our line, Robert Richards.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do apologize if some of the material in this fic is a bit questionable. I had two gags in mind ("Hornblower meets Americans on the 4th of July" and "Hornblower is related to Reed Richards") and just worked backwards to fit it together, and didn't fully consider the possible implications. I've decided to post it anyway as a sort of "How I've progressed as a writer" sort of thing.


End file.
